


The confessions of a writer

by Venus_Belfire



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venus_Belfire/pseuds/Venus_Belfire
Summary: Be wary when falling in love with a writer. No, be wary when letting a writer fall for you.





	The confessions of a writer

Out of the many warnings and fears we carry with us, today I only have one to give you. Always be wary when befriending a writer. This story, poem or whatever you choose to call it, may be a bit more personal than all my previous works. Because this one is from me. This one isn't so much a character I built to express my thoughts with a new personality in a glamourised story. So I apologise now if that's what you where expecting or wanted. Because today you get me. Me; a writer you made the mistake of befriending without having taken cautious. In your defence you hadn't known I was a writer, and the mistake had not been befriending me. But instead letting me fall for you. So, this is for you.

Sometimes I wonder why you like me so much, why you put up with my closed off nature and cold demeanour. But you finally told me. You told me that you like the way I see you, the person I see you to be: when I describe to you exactly as I see you, you usually laugh and roll your eyes, calling me dramatic and tell me I'm the only person who ever says that to you. And in that very moment, of you with your hair in that stupid topknot and sweats, drinking that malteser milkshake and spelling it all over yourself like a child I can't help but to fall that little bit harder; I can't help but to almost feel pity for those who know you and don't see how beautiful you really are. Trust me on this one. When a writer finds themselves intrigued in you and begins to see every flaw of you yet another sum to perfection I find myself hopelessly devoted to getting to know every detail there is to know about you, and I find myself giving up everything about myself to you. I try to grasp onto you and every beautiful word or thing I could use to describe you and find myself frustrated when they don't even begin to express the warmth your skin radiates. I try to materialise the flutters of feeling into cliche and terrible love letters you will never see. Every peice of writing can not hold up to everything you are. Chocolate brown eyes are never enough for you, but instead a Forrest of trees, filtering the sunlight through their autumn leaves. Your words, movement and pure being scattering my every thought and spill into every page I write like unsung lyrics I hadn't meant to write.

You asked me about a song today, and if I had been honest I would have said it was fine, but I barely noticed it. I found myself so caught up in watching you smiling and dancing around in your living room and making silly faces at me that everything else around me fading out of existence. But when you asked me if I liked the song I told you I loved it, and asked for its name. And now I do love the song, but that's because it's your song. So I have warned you, do not befriend a writer. Do not let a writer fall for you. Because as much as you may feel hope for yourself in the reflection of yourself in their eyes and their cliche writing, describing every beautiful thing they see in you, they will also write the pain you cause them. I find my writing has always been rather depressing if I'm honest, the dullness of emotion filtering in. But the day you sat on my bed with the sun picking up on your glittering cheekbones you told me you wanted to tell me something, getting all embarrassed when I assured you I wanted to know. You told me about him. The guy who I had known you had been visiting on the weekends from the subtle off guard remarks you would make.

It wasn't personal, you didn't keep it from only me. And I wasn't even upset you had found someone. It was something in the smile you would share with him in passing, and how you would laugh as you noticed my inward cringe when you would steal glances at each other from across the room. You pinned it on how I had always shyed away from relationships. But you never even realised. You never realised that with every new thing I noticed about you and described as beautiful was me falling in love with yet another bit of you. And the reason i would curl up when you two got together was my chest feeling awfully tight, and my heart thumping so loud I was scared you would hear it. Even now I'm not sure what the feeling was, because I'm not mad at you or even him. I'm mad at myself for falling, and I'm mad that you let me fall without even noticing. How I found you in every morning sunrise, dying my plain white walls with pinks and oranges. And I would go home each night and lock myself in my bedroom and try to describe your laugh. So I repeat - do not let a writer fall for you. Do not let a writer fall in love with every little aspect of yourself if you plan on breaking their heart.


End file.
